Chapter Eight - Lucky
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Metro—which I’m leaning towards calling Patsy, by the way— is full of surprises.
Although I’m already squished up like those cinnamon rolls that come in a can—you know the ones that pop out when you hit the can just right—I’m hunched over trying to get the air conditioner to work.
My phone is set up in the windshield mount the Starlight folks provided us for easy video use, and it’s recording. The Starlight camera guys have their own vehicles, so there’s no official filming while we travel. However, given that we’re all content creators, we’re encouraged to film on our own.
“Any luck?” Becca asks, her tone closer to a whine. We’ve only been in the car for a couple of hours, but the sun is already high in the sky, and with it beaming down on the car—and the summer temperatures—it’s hotter than hell and half of Georgia.
"Nah," I say, straightening up as best I can. "I think we're out of luck."
As a last resort, I slam my hand on the dash the way my dad always does when things are broken.
“I hardly think that’s going to help,” Becca snips, fanning her face with one hand and gripping the wheel with the other.
“Yeah, well, it can’t hurt either,” I spit back.
We haven’t exactly been on the friendliest of terms since leaving San Antonio, and the heat isn’t helping. For good measure—and to annoy Becca—I smack the dashboard again. There's a shrill keening sound, but then air begins sputtering through the vents.
"Wait, did that just work?" I hold my hand in front of the vent. It's not exactly cold, but it's blowing. I laugh, “Hell yeah, it did!"
I lean towards the camera a little making sure my face is in focus. “Did you see that? That’s right, you can officially call me Lucky DeLucca, slayer and king of all crappy air conditioners!”
I do a little dance in my seat and beam at Becca who is scowling at me. It’s short-lived though because even as annoyed as she is, she can’t deny the relief of the semi-cold air.
The tension in the car slowly decreases along with the temperature, and we both settle into a more comfortable silence.
Since I can’t exactly help with the driving, I pull my phone from the dash mount and check my socials.
My notifications are off the charts, and I have so many DMs rolling in that I’ll never be able to respond to them all. I grin. Definitely don’t hate that.
“How we looking?” Becca’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Are you on Starlight’s page?”
“Oh, no,” I say, swiping my apps to clear them. “I was just checking my accounts.”
“You might want to take a peek at Starlight’s website. They probably have footage from the first challenge up, and by now, everyone knows how awful a team we are.” She groans, as I quickly tap out the web address.
Her words sting slightly—I didn’t think we were that bad—but I shove the feeling away, focusing on the screen.
The Starlight Talent Agency website has its own landing page for all things Challenge related, including a built-in voting system so that viewers can vote for their favorite teams following each challenge.
I click on the competition page.
“Dude,” I say, zeroing in on the team standings. “We’re in second place overall.”
“What? Let me see that.” I hand my phone over so Becca can see what I see. “How is that possible?” she asks. “We lost the challenge. Like really lost.”
“We did,” I say, scanning the comments in the comments section. “But we’re racking up a ton of the popular votes. The public apparently finds us hilarious.”
Becca looks over, brows scrunched. “They think it’s funny that we lost?”
“Yeah, but it’s not just that. Listen to this,” I zoom in on a particular comment.
“According to @babysblackballoon99, ‘Becca and Lucky are absolutely the team to watch. Opposites don’t always attract and if those two make it to the end of the competition without killing each other, it will be a miracle.’”
“She’s not wrong,” Becca says with a shrug.
I keep scanning the comments. “At least they think we’re funny. If they hated us, it’d be worse.”
“The viewers may have thrown us a bone this time, but we’re not going to win the competition that way.” Becca sucks her bottom lip between her teeth for a few seconds before pushing the sunglasses off her face so she can look at me directly.
“Lucky, I think we should start over. Call a truce or something. We didn’t exactly start off on the right foot, and that first challenge was...”
“A goat rodeo?” I supply, looking up from my phone.
Becca lets out a laugh. “A goat rodeo? Are those even a thing?”
I grin. “They’re totally a thing.”
“Okay, fine. Today’s challenge was a goat rodeo, but it’s not too late to turn things around. We can’t keep arguing or being weird around each other. We have to work together if we want to win this—and I do, want to win, I mean.”
“That makes two of us, Holly G.”
“Good, then it’s settled. But now that we’re officially a team, I think we need to establish a few ground rules.”
I twist a little in my chair, trying to face her in a more comfortable position.
Not that one exists in a car this size for a tall guy like me.
My knees are already screaming in protest at the lack of leg room.
I re-open the camera on my phone and aim it on her. I press record. “What kind of rules?”
“You know, just rules. Boundaries. Lines that we don’t cross.”
I nod. “Okay, sure, but me first.”
I clear my throat and flip the camera around to face me, giving my best devilish smirk. “Rule number one of Becca and Lucky’s Road Trip Extravaganza is you do not talk about said road trip. Rule number two: You DO NOT talk about—“
“Really?” Becca deadpans. “You just stole that from Fight Club.”
I laugh. “You caught me. Alright, what about this one? Whatever happens in Patsy, stays in Patsy.”
“Patsy? You can’t name the car Patsy.”
“Why not?”
“Cause Patsy sounds like an old lady.”
I scoff, rubbing the dashboard. “Have you seen this thing? She ain’t exactly in the prime of her youth.”
“True, but a crappy tin can like this needs a name that matches its character.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. But I know it’s not Patsy.”
“Fine, fine,” I laugh, making sure the camera is still filming. “What do you guys think? What should we name our car? Be sure to leave your suggestions in the comments below.”
I press the record button to stop it and switch the camera off.
“I was thinking I could take the footage I got today and put a video together. We could both upload it to our accounts. I figure the more exposure the competition gets, the more chances we have at getting votes.”
I don’t mention my livestream footage, but I’m definitely thinking about it.
“That’s a really good idea,” Becca says. “But like I said, we need some rules.”
Her face is serious, and even though my brain is already supplying me with a million jokes to make in this exact moment, she’s right.
“Okay, shoot. What do you have in mind?”
“Well, for starters, if we’re gonna do more filming, I think we should agree that we each get approval of all content. I have my brand to think of, and you have yours. I think it’s important that we don’t post anything that could potentially damage the other person’s brand.”
This is reasonable enough.
“Agreed,” I say, with a wave of my hand. “But we should probably discuss those first.”
“What? Our brands?”
“Yeah, no offense, but I don’t really watch a whole lot of videos on how to put on sparkly eyeshadow.”
Becca purses her lip. “Being a beauty influencer is so much more than ‘sparkly eyeshadow,’ you ass.”
I snicker a little at the term, “beauty influencer.” I had no idea that was a thing. “Fine then, enlighten me.”
Becca flips her hair off her shoulder. “It’s about confidence and self-love. I make videos to inspire people and empower them by utilizing makeup.”
“Isn’t that a little ironic, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“In your videos, you’re basically saying that someone needs makeup in order to feel confident, right?”
Her fingers grip the steering wheel, and the car shutters a little bit as she jerks her head over to me. “You take that back, Lucky DeLucca! Have you ever even watched one of my videos?”
“Whoa, keep her on the road will you?” I hold up my hands as if I were a hostage being held at gunpoint. “I wasn’t trying to be an asshole, I swear. It’s just . . . shouldn’t a person feel good about themselves all on their own?”
“Of course, but that’s not what it’s about, and that’s certainly not me,” Becca replies.
The anger has faded some from her tone, but her cheeks are flushed, and I can tell I’ve hit a bit of a nerve. I open my mouth to apologize, but she keeps going.
“For your information, I don’t put makeup on to feel confident. I feel confident, so I put on makeup to highlight that. And because I like it. End of story, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I swallow. “Look, I wasn’t trying—”
She holds up a hand to cut me off. “There are a lot of people out there who like to crap on influencers like me, but just because you don’t get it, it doesn’t mean it’s not important or worth investing in.” She lets out a huff. “Now, your brand on the other hand . . . what’s that all about?”
I can tell she’s trying to bait me, but I’m not biting. “It’s just me, doing what I’ve always done,” I reply with a shrug.
“What? Being as ridiculous as possible? You ate a live goldfish in one of your videos.”
“Just because you don’t get it,” I mimic Becca’s voice, throwing her own words back at her. I can’t help myself. “It doesn’t mean it’s not important or worth investing in.”
Becca grips the steering wheel, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing keeping her from slapping the ever-loving daylights out of me. So much for that fresh start.
“What I do,” I say, yanking a hand through my hair. “Is just for fun. To make people laugh. It’s that simple.”
Becca responds by turning up the radio.
We make it through the entire CD and land back on Drops of Jupiter again before the muscles in my jaw loosen.